Wandwork
by LadySilvrene
Summary: Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches." How many times did Ollivanders really say those words? We only know of one, but this goes through three of the candidates... And recalls a flash of Divination from years ago.


Ollivanders presented another wand, different from the rest, and yet so ignobly fashioned- plain, no adornment. And although the reaction was exemplar, the boy in question did not keep this wand.

"This feels wrong. It is obviously meant for another."

"Oh? But none of the other wands seem to like you so much."

"I understand that, but this is not the correct wand. It does not feel right, it does not make me feel whole. It is not the best extension of me and channel for my power."

"I… See… And what feels wrong about it?"

"The wood, holly… I need darker wood, stronger wood. Bends, but rarely breaks, and yet is not whippy. I need something… Different, Mr. Ollivanders."

Studying the boy in front of him, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of apprehension. The aura that surrounded the boy was powerful and strong, and he had come so close to matching it.

"What about the core?"

"Similar as possible, if you please."

And so Ollivanders left to the back of the shop, back to where his predecessor had kept the wands, back to the almost forbidding lands of few wands. "Perhaps… Perhaps this will succeed where others have not…"

He lucked a case from the rest, dusty and old, and checked the name of the Phoenix who had donated the core.

A barking laugh echoed through the back, and Ollivanders reached the front again.

"Ebony and Phoenix feather, thirteen inches." Thirteen- unlucky number. "You will do great things with that wand."

A shadow of a smile flickered across the patrons face. Dark hair and hauntingly green eyes, it was obvious that he was be seen as strange, and enigma… Possibly beautiful, although the Malfoy brood had a different and more appealing beauty. Something echoed across the reaches of time, and he resisted the urge to check the young boy's forehead for a scar that he knew wouldn't be there.

The child, although somewhat awed by the world of magic that he had never known existed, held a commanding presence- a leader, whether for light or dark. There is no such thing as good or evil.

He swept out of the shop, back to the pub that nobody but a magic user knew existed, back to the life that was threatened every day by those with his power, back to a life he would eventually curse, literally, to death… All the while holding that smile of power, and knowing one could wield it.

And Ollivanders stood back and watched the world.

The bells rang in the front of the shop, but the wizened wizard took no notice. The last few touches on the wand that would resist the Dark Lord were being made. Holly, Phoenix feather, eleven inches, now adorned with a phoenix and a dragon circling in flight, his creation, his pet, was ready. Though the two wands were separated by many fiery rebirths and renewals, the feathers were still brothers. Perfect.

He didn't understand the necessity of completing this wand, and so hurriedly, too, but inspiration had struck, and in the business of perfection, you grasped that inspiration and ran with it wherever it wished.

An insistent bell rang at the front, and he lovingly placed the magical work of wood and being into a case of wood lined with velvet to help the customer. Narcissa Black- no, Malfoy. Beautiful woman, beautiful wand- pine with a petal of the Devil's Snare's flower, nine inches. A short but simple wand, it was adorned with a simple trail of the vines that made up the plant, but that was not why she was here.

A vial was clasped in her hand, a vial of her son's magical essence. Foolish, but seemingly necessary of those of the aristocratic class. "Young Master Malfoy, I presume?"

"Of course."

He handed the woman the vial of his own essence- to ensure he returned with the wand and the essence, of course- and left to the stacks.

Perhaps his pet was the one! Draco, dragon, the whittling of a dragon around the length… But such was not to be, and so he returned with the chosen wand- powdered dragon scale and oak, eighteen inches- and gave back the items that would help the child excel to greatness.

"Eleven Galleons, if you please."

"Of course." The patented smirk of the Malfoy line- whether by marriage or birth- dared to grace her features, and she swept out of the store with a haughty air.

Something rested on the air, something wonderful, and he decided to sit and wait- not that he had to for long. Not a scarce five minutes had passed when a small boy and Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys, entered the shop.

Pleasantries were exchanged, and he watched the wary reaction of the boy, almost seeing another face there. Not his father's, as everyone else had, but the face of the boy who had caused the death of so many.

It was a shock when the wand for the boy was the brother, was his pet. He didn't see any correlations- but apparently the boy did. He reverently eyed the wood, and seemed to hold it close to his heart- like a memento of a best friend gone far away.

So peculiar.

As he collected the galleons offered by the boy, he recalled the visit where Tom Riddle had received his wand- and his eyes traveled to the Boy-Who-Lived's forehead. Just as he had wanted to do all those years ago.

"It seems I do have some talent for Divination, just like my old professor said." The wizard was speaking to himself and the room, while empty of other people, filled with the wands he knew as well as any friends.


End file.
